


Curtain GO

by attic_gremlin



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drama, Fluff and Angst, Stagehand AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attic_gremlin/pseuds/attic_gremlin
Summary: Castle Town Community Theatre has quite a cast (and crew!) of fascinating characters. During a production of The Music Man, shenanigans ensue and a dark plot is unveiled. Together, can the nine Heroes of Hyrule wrangle a cast filled to the brim with friends and foes alike for two and a half weeks and save their production?
Relationships: Link/Ravio (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 61





	1. Thursday Evening. 8 Days Remain.

**Author's Note:**

> The stagehand au fic is finally here!! Thanks so much to my fellow stagehands Yormp, Cerame, JJ, Waffles, Stephen, Cat, Batty, itsatrapbrokiV, Nutmeg, and Fishy on the LU Discord for helping me brainstorm and develop this AU! They contributed so many shenanigans to this monster of a fic, it wouldn't be half as fun without them!
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you guys enjoy day 1 of Hell Week (AKA Tech Week) at Castle Town Community Theatre.

_ TECH WEEK: DAY 1 _

_ ___________________________ _

_ 6:15 -- Backstage Left. _

Time's voice is a staticky crackle over the ancient headsets: 

_ "Alright, boys, first night with tech. Let's have a good show, and keep our heads until notes. Let me know when we’re set for the top." _

Legend rolls his eyes. “Copy,” he scoffs.

As if _ crew _ would lose their heads. If Legend could stay calm for the twelve-minute scene change he endured last year for  _ Singin' in the Rain, Jr. _ , he could withstand anything. Which reminds him: Wind owes him big time for stage-managing his little sister's production. He should cash that in soon. 

Legend flips his script closed and meets Hyrule’s eyes across the stage. Hyrule holds up five fingers and ducks behind a curtain to double-check stage right. Knowing this company, that five minutes will turn into twenty, easily. Legend leaves to give the dressing rooms their half-hour warning and prepare his soul for the next several hours.

________________

_ 6:20 -- Twilight’s Pickup Truck _

"Twenty rupees says the pig is the lead."

Wild scoffs. He and Twilight are indulging in a friendly game of "Post the Cast List" as they drive to their first rehearsal of  _ The Music Man _ , as is tradition.

"Twi, the point of this game is to guess the cast the most  _ correctly _ , not the most outrageously. Ganon would make a terrible Harold Hill." Wild remarks.

"He's the best Baritone in the typical rotation besides Bosphoramus, and I love him, but Boz isn't a good enough actor to lead." Twilight retorts. "Do you take the bet or not?"

"Of course I'll take the bet! Ganon is  _ too _ slimy to play Harold, he's supposed to have a heart of gold, remember? I just hope you have enough rupees to pay up." Wild taunts. "I'll put fifteen on Skull Kid as Marion's little brother."

Skull Kid is Majora's bratty little 10-year-old son. The only time he ever takes off his dumb skull-patterned hoodie is when he’s in costume. Wild is pretty sure he hates acting, but his mom has bribed him into every show he's done so far. 

Twi considers this before letting out a resigned sigh. "You're probably right. Colin auditioned, but he didn’t get the part." 

Wild hums in sympathy, falling silent for a moment as Twilight turns into the parking lot. He recognizes several actors' cars and even spots some crews'; he and Twi are late. Wild glances at the clock; make that  _ very _ late. Wild shrugs; the run never starts before 7:15 this early in rehearsals anyway (or really, ever).

Ganondorf's cruiser is illegally parked in the front row of the lot. The blue paint of the handicap spot matches the car's police stripes perfectly, and Wild gags at the sight of it. "The Pig's  _ here _ , at least."

Twi sighs as he parks and kills the engine. "I really hate that guy."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Wild jokes as he climbs out of the car. Twilight winces at the casual reminder of Wild's accident two years ago. Ganondorf's involvement was never proven, but it hadn't been truly disproven, either.

Wild opens the rear passenger door and gives a quick "Unload" command to their third passenger. An enormous black-and-white German Shepherd called Wolfie leaps down from the backseat and sits obediently. The holographic words "SERVICE DOG -- DO NOT TOUCH" flash on his vest as Wild attaches his lead. 

"Ready to lose some rupees?" Wild taunts. 

Twi barks a laugh. "You wish! We'll see who's laughing when we're watching Ganon bumble his way through  _ Ya Got Trouble _ ,"

A rush of ice-cold air hits them as they push open the door. It’s pure bliss after the sweltering afternoon heat outside; even Wolfie looks relieved.

Twilight and Wild each take a deep breath to savor the chill in the air. It won’t stay cool for long, once everyone starts to sing and dance. Sweaty actors radiate enough heat to melt Snowhead.

Wild and Wolfie make a beeline through the nearly-empty lobby towards the door to the tech booth. A few actors mill about, but none they know particularly well. They wave to Four, who sits at a table in the corner, but he doesn’t see them, and he seems too focused to be interrupted. Wild spots Veran and Aghanhim by the water fountains, and his head swivels for any sign of Ganondorf. A glance at Wolfie, calm as can be, confirms his absence; Wolfie always alerts him when the Pig is nearby.

On his way to the booth, Wild snags an apple off a card table laden with food and pointedly marked "actors enjoy." Twilight isn't hungry, but he follows suit, helping himself to a banana before joining Wild in the booth. 

Time and Flora are already there, debating light cues. Time shoots their new company a nod of acknowledgment. Flora seems to miss their entrance, though; she hasn't stopped talking for a second.

Wild plucks a headset and fistful of batteries from a tub behind Flora, careful not to interrupt her. Twilight shoots a glance at his sound setup and notices a photocopied script lying on top of it, with his name scrawled on the front. He glances through it and, seeing no notes yet, leaves it there to read later. 

They tiptoe back out of the booth, and Wild passes the headset to Twilight. He hadn’t grabbed one for himself, since his own is already in the catwalk, wired into the wall. Anyway, Wild never wears a headset before the run starts, since he can’t hear anyone around him with it on. He lost hearing in one ear after his accident, and the headset only muffles what little sound he can still pick up.

Wolfie's cold, wet nose on his fingers jolts Wild out of his thoughts and stops his hand in its tracks before he could even notice it was moving. His right hand had been drifting towards the scars on his left to scratch at them without his notice. He shoves his right hand in his pocket and pats Wolfie on the head in thanks.

A glance at Twilight sees him gleefully clicking double a's into his battery pack. His headset is one of the only ones that doesn’t need gaff tape (if you could wrestle a strip from Legend) to keep the battery attached, and it’s coveted. Finally, Twi straps the two-pound radio pack onto his belt. He hangs the headset around his neck at full volume and shoots Wild a thumbs up.

Wild returns the gesture before they head out of the lobby, down the hall, and past the green room. They pass Four’s empty workbench, littered with costumes but absent of Four; the dressing rooms, the doors to which block the sights, but not the sounds, of two dozen gossiping actors; and the Door of Doom, a dingy red metal door in the hall that hasn’t been opened in at least 30 years, and which is certainly haunted.

Down the hall, they hear Malon before they spot her. She’s doing warmups for the show tonight and is already reaching some truly impressive high notes. From the theatre's best soprano, though, that isn't much of a surprise. The only thing sweeter than her voice is her heart; she’s a goddess among actors, and the nicest person many of them have ever met. 

"Malon!" Wild cries, running at her to pull her in a bear hug. She squeals in delight and returns the hug with matched enthusiasm, pulling Twilight in as well as soon as he ventures within grabbing distance. 

"How are you, Malon?" Twi asks when she releases them. 

"I'm wonderful, thank you! It's so good to see you boys, how have y'all been?" She replies, seeming to radiate sunshine. "Have you seen Time yet?"

Twi nods. "We saw him on the way in, Flora's holding him hostage in the booth. We've been just fine, Wild and I wrapped up Sweeney Todd over at the Death Mountain Playhouse last week. Have you done anything since we saw you last?"

Malon launches into a description of her experiences with  _ The Lady and the Lynel, Jr. _ at the Lurelin Community Theatre and  _ Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Scales  _ at the Our Lady Nayru’s School in the Domain. Wild and Twilight tell a few stories as well, and the trio swaps tales until Legend comes back to call 15 minutes to places.

They say goodbye to Malon and leave her to do her vocal warmups. They head towards the stage to say hello to a few more friends before the run starts. 

_________________

_ 6:30 -- the green room  _

Red is about to flip his shit. 

If one more upstart actor lays so much as a finger in his sewing kit, they would  _ lose it. _

He left his workbench unattended for ten minutes to search the costume closet.  _ Ten minutes! _ He was searching for inspiration for the band uniforms. Something shiny, with lots of buttons and ribbons. He returned victorious, with an armful of bright red satin military-style jackets. (He vaguely remembered seeing them in Pirates of Penzance a few years ago.) With just a few alterations, he thought, they’ll be perfect! He brought them triumphantly to his workstation to alter them, only to find his fabric scissors  _ gone _ . 

He takes a deep breath. Maybe one (or three) of his brothers had borrowed them. He stands to track them down.

Green is right where Red left him, rummaging through the costume closet. He’s looking for medals to pilfer for Harold's jacket. He hasn't seen them but offers his own to replace them. Red thanks him, but declines; This is now a matter of honor.

Blue is in the lobby. Currently, he’s painstakingly gluing medallions and chin straps onto cheap felt hats and maintaining colorful commentary under his breath. Red knows better than to talk to Blue when he’s muttering to himself, so he simply scans the table for clues. He sees no incriminating evidence among the mess of fabric littering the table, so he leaves Blue to his work. 

Vio is in the shop, standing in front of a misshapen glob of paper mache. It might be the beginnings of a French Horn-- or maybe a trumpet? He promises that, while he hasn't seen the scissors, he’ll help Red hide the thief's body when the time comes. His threat is undercut slightly by the paper mache smeared on his face, but Red appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. 

As he leaves, Red hears Ravio enter through the other shop door. 

“Four, were you talking to someone?” He asks. Red giggles and skips away as Vio makes some excuse about talking to “himself.” 

Just as Red enters the green room, a gaggle of actresses emerge from the women’s dressing room on the other side of the green room. Red looks up to see Ghirahim split off from them and saunter in his direction. 

“I see you’ve noticed  _ these-- _ ” he holds up a pair of red-handled scissors-- “are missing,” he says, looking excessively bored. The scissors are, without a doubt, Red’s. Written on the handle in dark sharpie is the name “Four.” Ghirahim dangles them from his fingers and Red snatches them back. 

“What did you want them for?” Red asks, suspicion dripping from his words. He forces himself to maintain his composure-- he needs to find out what they cut with them, and Ghirahim won’t tell him if he knows what the correct answer is. Red can’t tip them off to the consequences of using his fabric scissors on  _ anything  _ other than fabric. 

Ghirahim rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry, pipsqueak,” He says, and Red chafes. “We needed to cut some ribbon for Aryll’s hair, she wanted to try them out for Amaryllis. I made sure that’s all we used them for. After all, how are you supposed to make us look amazing if your fancy scissors grow dull?” With one final laugh, Ghirahim flutters away, his sleeves flapping behind him. 

Red looks down at his scissors with furrowed brows. He doesn’t quite understand Ghirahim. He’s full of contradictions. In the same breath, he called Red “pipsqueak” and reassured him of his scissors’ safety. He swiped Red’s scissors without permission, but used them to help a little girl with her hair. Red thinks Ganondorf and the other actors are a bad influence on Ghirahim. He could be a sweet guy if he stopped insulting everyone so much. 

Red sighs and turns back to his worktable. He needs to get started on these band uniforms if he’s going to have a sample done by midnight.

________________

_ 6:40 -- Backstage Hallway _

On their way to the stage door, Wild and Twilight hear some truly frightening sounds coming from the costume closet. They share a glance but leave the poor techie inside to their grim work.

As they pass the shop, they see Ravio and Four working on some paper-mache props. Or, rather, Ravio has Four doing the paper mache, while he scribbles in a prop checkbook. Four, wearing a purple hoodie today, waves as they pass.

On stage, Twilight and Wild find Legend, Hyrule, Sun, and Sky. Legend and Hyrule (Stage Manager and Assistant Stage Manager, respectively) are crouching over a script on stage right, likely debating crew placement and last-minute set changes. They look about the same as always: Legend has several pieces of neon spike tape stuck to his face and body, and Hyrule looks like he rolled around in the dirt before he arrived.

Sky and Sun wield a can of paint and a fine brush each, painting brickwork onto a set. Sun waves at them as they pass, smearing yet another stripe of blue paint on her loose dance shirt; It joins about a hundred other stains in every color of the rainbow.

As soon as they step beyond the wings and onto the stage, Wolfie gives Wild's fingers a lick to draw his attention. When Wild glances down, the dog turns his head, pointing downstage with his nose. Following his sightline, Wild sees Ganondorf thumbing through his phone in the fourth row. Wild mutters a quiet, "Good boy," and continues, following Twilight across the stage.

On backstage left, they find Wind and Warriors resting on a floral couch. Wind looks red-faced and sweaty, but Warriors looks just as put-together as always. Wars seems to be explaining something, and Wind looks unimpressed. 

"So house left, right, and center are the directions of the audience from the house. And stage left, right, and center are the directions from the stage, facing the house." he’s saying.

Wind makes a face of disgust. "I know how it  _ works, _ Wars, I just think it's  _ stupid.  _ On a boat, you don't say 'bow right' or 'stern left.' You just say  _ port! _ "

Warriors chuckles at Wind’s pout. "Sorry, squirt, you make a good point, but we're not on a boat. We're in a theatre, so stick to left and right for now."

Wind pouts harder and looks away dramatically-- just in time to see Twi and Wild step backstage. 

“Hey, you’re here!” he cries, standing to greet Twi with a hug. 

“Wind, come on, you’re going to get them all sweaty--” Wars tries, but Twi ignores him and simply hugs Wind back. Wars laughs and shakes his head good-naturedly. 

“Sorry about him, they put us to work right away. We’ve only been here about an hour.” 

Wild smiles when he gets his own hug from Wind, who then greets Wolfie with a “Hello,” but doesn’t touch him. Instead, he simply holds out his hand for Wolfie to smell. 

Wild grins. 

“Wolfie, shake,” He says, gesturing to Wind. Wolfie understands instantly and places his enormous speckled paw into Wind’s outstretched hand. Wind’s face lights up and there are stars in his eyes as he shakes Wolfie’s paw. 

“Have you seen Midna yet?” Wars asks Twilight softly, a hint of doom in his tone.    
  


“No,” Twi replies warily. “Why?”

“You know how she auditioned for Marion, but Dusk got cast instead?” Wars asks. 

Twilight nods; he does remember. He remembers how hard Midna worked to learn those lines, how many sleepless nights she spent fighting with her own brain, how many times she watched that goddamn movie in preparation… and for Dusk to get the part? Midna never got along very well with Dusk anyway. She was crushed. 

Twilight also remembers the dozens of rants he’s heard from Midna over the last couple of weeks about Dusk becoming a “high and mighty actor who’s too far above the plebian ensemble to grace us with her angelic attention.” In a few words, Dusk has been ignoring her former friends because of her newfound status. 

Twilight doesn’t understand why she would do that, but then, he’s never understood her very well at all. She’s his cousin, but they’ve never been very close. She’s always maintained a distance between them, keeping him at arm’s length even when they were kids. At first he thought she just didn’t like him, but she did it to his siblings as well; Ilia and Beth were only a couple of years her junior, but she hadn’t given them the time of day. The only people Dusk ever really let in were her fellow dancers. When she found that group of girls, she was so happy. She finally found people she liked, who understood her and who she understood in return. And to give that up, for what? A leading role? Twilight can’t wrap his head around it. 

Twilight guesses that all this drama might have something to do with why he’s a stagehand and not an actor.

Wars fills him in on the day’s drama. The girls had invited Dusk to lunch and some shopping with them before rehearsal. Dusk had given some excuse about learning lines, and Midna had been ranting about it all afternoon. Something about Dusk’s high horse following her out of the theatre. Wars also tells him about Four being on a rampage because of some lost fabric scissors.

By the time Legend yells at him and Wild to get off the stage if they’re not going to work, Twilight can tell it’s going to be a  _ long  _ rehearsal. He and Wild say goodbye to the folks on stage, and Wars leaves to set stage right for the top with Wind and Hyrule. Sky joins Twilight and Wild on their way to the booth. Twilight takes his seat at the soundboard next to time, while Sky and Wild continue past him to the stairs. They creep soundlessly up to the catwalk to take their spots.

As the house lights dim and the stage lights rise, the familiarly contradictory feeling of foreboding mixed with excitement washes over Twilight. He falls back into comfortable routine at the soundboard and takes a deep, musky breath. It’s good to be back.

_________________

_ 7:17 -- Main Stage _

At 7:17, the run finally starts. 

Legend glances over to Wind, who stands ready at the curtain. Legend raises his hand to cue a standby, and Wind nods. He grips the rope tightly, eyes on Legend. As Guru Guru plays through the overture, Time's voice crackles over the headset:

_ "Standby for top of show, sound off,"  _ He says. 

"Stage left, standing by," Legend drawls, surveying stage left and seeing everyone in their proper place. He mentally prepares himself for the garbage fire they’re about to experience. 

_ "Stage right, standing by,"  _ Hyrule chirps, sounding far too cheerful for day one of Hell Week. 

_ "Lights, standing by,"  _ comes Flora's voice.

_ "Sound, standin' by,"  _ comes Twi's.

_ "Spot A, standing by,"  _ and  _ "Spot B, standing by,"  _ From Wild and Sky.

"Curtain, standing by," Legend supplies for Wind, who tenses, his hands gripping the pulley. 

The overture swells and dies back down. Guru sets the tempo for  _ Rock Island. _

_ "From the top. Light cue one and Main Rag, GO." _

Legend drops his hand as if he were throwing down a hanky at a street race. Wind draws the heavy, red curtains smoothly open as the lights gently rise to a blinding yellow. The  _ Rock Island _ ensemble, which has been still as statues behind the curtain until now, suddenly bursts into motion and begins to sing. 

Legend sighs. He just hopes it’ll go well enough to be out of here by eleven. 

__________________

_ 12:02 -- Main Stage _

Legend's hopes are shattered; The run is a disaster, and Dink keeps them until midnight. 

  
Dink-- or "Director Link" as the program always advertises in obnoxiously huge letters -- seems to stop them every five minutes. They can barely get through one scene before hearing  _ "Hold!" _ from the house, at which point Dink takes them back at least ten lines. They run  _ Termina Stubborn _ exactly  _ seventeen times.  _ Legend counts. They never even make it to  _ Seventy-Six Trombones,  _ let alone intermission-- and good thing, too, because Dink will probably spend an entire rehearsal on that number alone. If Legend was  _ really  _ unlucky, Dink will schedule  _ Seventy-Six Trombones _ for Saturday, and turn their 8-hour rehearsal day into a 10-hour one. As Legend empties the dead batteries from his headset, he sends a fruitless prayer to the goddesses that he'll come down with the flu before Friday.


	2. Friday Evening. 7 Days Remain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2! The Work Begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! TW for mention of hospitalization, injury, and a traumatic fire :3 enjoy~!

_ 5:00 — Lobby _

“But  _ Twi! _ ” Wild whines, leaning dramatically onto Wolfie as they walk across the parking lot, “Why do I have to get here early? I’m on spotlight! That means I don’t actually have to get here until, like, 6:50!” 

Wolfie bears Wild’s weight easily, but he looks as close to disgruntled as Twilight has ever seen a dog look. 

Twilight rolls his eyes. “ _ You  _ have to get here early because  _ you  _ cannot drive, so  _ I  _ have to bring you.  _ I  _ have to get here early because I have to do mic checks before the run starts.”

Wild groans melodramatically as Twilight opens the door to the theatre.  _ “ _ _ Now doth time waste me,”  _ they cry, and Twilight rolls his eyes; they must really be bored to be quoting Shakespeare, Twilight thinks.  _ “For now hath time made me his numbering clock— _ not, like,  _ Time _ ,” Wild interjects suddenly, “like the guy, but like, time-time, like a clock.”

“I really don’t ca—” Twilight’s complaint is cut off  by more loud quotation. 

“ _ The sound that tells what hour it is!” _ Wild continues obnoxiously, “ _ Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart, (which is the bell): so sighs and tears and groans show minutes, times, and hours!”  _ To punctuate their point, they let out a mighty groan, sinking to the ground in their misery.

Twilight mostly ignores them.

“You  _ could  _ have ridden with Flora.” Twilight reminds him, opening the door to the booth. “Why didn’t you ask  _ her _ to—Oh.” Inside the booth, they see Flora loudly snoring (and lightly drooling) on the light board. “That would probably be because she’s been here since last night.”

“ _Hylia,_ _help that girl,”_ Wild mutters from behind him, then, “actually, nevermind, I’ll do it myself—”

Wild squeezes past him, Wolfie close behind, and sheds their jacket. Rolling the material up into something resembling a pillow, they reach for Flora’s head and gently insert it between her face and the lightboard. They’re careful not to wake her; they know she sleeps lightly these days. They take a moment to slide closed the glass partition between the light booth and the auditorium. Then, Wild steps back and gently closes the door with a soft  _ click.  _

“Let her sleep,” They whisper, “It’ll be a while ‘till she’s needed.”

Twilight nods as they make their way towards the box office, instead, since their usual spot in the booth is occupied. As he unlocks the door to let them in, he can’t help but worry about Flora. Although he gets the appeal of keeping busy, sometimes Twilight wishes Flora would take it easy a little more often. Between her internship with Purah, her work at the theatre 16 weeks out of the year, and her schoolwork at the University of Castle Town, it’s not hard for Flora to overwork herself. He thinks maybe she keeps so busy to avoid her dad, but that’s just speculation. Regardless, Twilight is glad she’s got friends, Wild especially, who will look out for her. Wild knows her limits (although Twilight can’t fathom how they’ve figured her out) and they’ll usually step in if they think burnout is imminent. 

This must be one of those times: Twilight is pretty sure Wild is planning a self-care spa night for Flora at this very moment as they spin in Time’s unattended office chair. Wolfie sits a few feet away, his eyes on the door. 

Twilight digs out his big box of microphones for the main cast. Unfortunately, they don’t have enough mics for everyone to have one, so he’s also going to set up a couple of stage mics to pick up most of the ensemble. He tosses them into the box, too, and sets off towards the stage to get to work. 

__________________________________

_ 5:10 — Center Stage _

Wind can’t believe he’s been saddled with  _ sweeping _ . Isn’t that a job for the newbies? Sure, it’s important, so the actors and dancers won’t slip and die or whatever, but that’s mostly just what they say to the new kids so they won’t feel bad for getting the number one worst job in the theatre. Sweeping is  _ boring _ , and it’s surprisingly hard work—you haven’t truly swept ‘till you’ve swept up after  _ confetti cannons _ eight nights in a row with no help.

It doesn’t help that Tetra tells him to keep “swabbing that poop deck!” every time he pauses for breath.

Maybe he should offer to swab  _ her. _ She’s clearly been helping Sky with his sets if the paint smeared all over her clothes, face, and hair is any indication. He thinks that might prompt her to come at  _ him  _ with a broom, though, and he doesn’t think he could outrun her in his current state; He’s huffing and puffing like an octorok right now. Tetra, on the other hand, is lounging on the overstuffed floral sofa in the set for Marion’s house, her feet propped on top of the upright piano and her soft dancing shoes tied at the laces and strung around her neck. She’s lucky Wars isn’t here, Wind thinks, or he’d take one look at her paint-spattered converse and kick her from the stage until the run starts. 

Wind heaves his last heaping dustpan to the trash can across the stage and then collapses on the couch across Tetra’s lap. She laughs at him and pokes him in the side to make sure he’s still alive. His twitch from the tickle nearly earns her a foot in the face (totally unintentional, obviously…).

Tetra pokes him again, more urgently this time—and thankfully not in a tickle spot. When he cracks an eye open, she’s pointing over his head. He arches his neck to look behind him without getting up and spots Time walking upside-down, hanging off the ceiling like a keese. Or, wait, Wind is the one upside-down, so Time is probably right-side-up. Wild rolls over and sits up so Time doesn’t scold him for putting his shoes on the armrest. 

Wind glances around for a way to look busy so Time doesn’t give him something to do —

“Hey, Wind,” Time says, and Wind deflates: he missed his shot to keep neglecting his job. He turns to look at Time. 

“I think Four could use some help in the shop, he’s got a table full of instruments waiting for paint.”

Wind’s shoulders slump and he swipes a hand at the source of a giggle behind him, which Tetra obviously dodges easily.

“You got it, boss,” Wind tells Time, salutes, and jumps down from the sofa. He looks at Tetra, who suddenly decides she needs to stretch  _ right now,  _ which, as a dancer, conveniently makes her look very busy. She sends him an evil wink from where her face is somehow touching her calf. He sticks his tongue out at her and drags himself towards the workshop.

At least he doesn’t have to sweep again.

_________

_ 5:25 — Stage Left _

“Dink wants the  _ Termina Stubborn  _ transition faster,” Hyrule tells Legend, skimming through his notes from the previous night. “Do we have anyone to spare just then?”

“Oh of course he does,” Legend gripes, “nothing we do is ever fast enough for these goddamn people. We barely have enough people to move that damn clocktower set safely at all, let alone extra bodies to make it go  _ faster! _ It’s already top-heavy, it’s gonna tip over if we try to rush it!”

Hyrule sighs. Legend is right, but they can’t say that to Dink’s face. “With a few more hands,” Hyrule tries again, “I think we can get it to where he’ll quit complaining.”

Legend scowls, considering. He flips to the relevant page in his script and scratches his chin. 

“Just then, we’ve got you and Shadow taking the Train off to stage right. At the same time, Ravio and I move the Clock Tower  _ on _ from stage right. Then, during the scene, Wind and Wars have to carry the pool table, because all the actors who could actually be of any use to us are  _ in the song, _ and therefore busy. So no, we don’t have anyone to spare.”

Hyrule frowns.    


Legend sighs. “But,” he begins again, reluctantly, and starts to scribble notes into the margins of his script. “If we ask a couple of the salesmen to help move the train off as they exit, then we can spare Shadow. He can join me and Ravio instead, and have a hand on the back of the clock tower to stabilize it as we hurry a little. But I’m not gonna rush so fast that anything starts to wobble — it’ll probably only shave a couple of seconds off the transition time.”

“Good enough for me!” Hyrule exclaims. “I’ll let Dink know. Thanks, Legend.”

“Hey, it’s your funeral,” Legend quips. “I’m not the one who’s gonna have to wrangle actors in the middle of one of the most hectic transitions in this show.”

Hyrule snorts and rolls his eyes. He turns the corner just as Ravio emerges from behind it, and they exchange a wave. Hyrule disappears down the hallway, and Ravio turns his attention to Legend. 

“Hey Rav,” Legend says, absentmindedly sticking out his cheek to accept Ravio’s kiss. “Have you seen Shadow?”

Ravio shakes his head, leaning over Legend’s shoulder to peer at his script. “Nope, not yet. Not sure he’s here yet, it’s only 5:30. Call’s not ‘till 6, it might be a minute.”

Legend gives a great exaggerated eye roll. Ravio can’t see his face from where he’s perched his pointy chin on Legend’s shoulder, but he can tell — it’s almost audible. He nuzzles his face into Legend’s neck, planting ticklish little kisses that make Legend’s lips quirk up in almost-laughter. Legend squirms away from the teasing pecks and loop his arms around Ravio’s neck.

“I don’t know about you,” he whispers, “but I actually have a job to do. So, why don’t you put a pin in this and we can revisit it later.”

Ravio quirks a brow. “How about during our ten?” he haggles.

“You know backstage crew doesn’t actually get to take ten.” Legend pouts, and ponders. “I can disappear for a few minutes during curtain call before we have to reset for tomorrow.” he decides.

“Deal.” Ravio declares, and seals it with a kiss.

When Legend opens his eyes, Ravio’s long scarf is already disappearing down the hallway.

____________

_ 6:15 — Light Booth _

Wild idly spins in their chair. They’ve decided to take Flora out for ice cream after rehearsal (if they get out before midnight tonight, at least) and then pamper her a little. Odds are she didn’t get to sleep last night until after the sun came up, so even if they got out around eleven they’d still have plenty of time to fill up with relaxation before she’d get remotely tired. She’s spent the entire night slumped over a lightboard, so they’re definitely drawing her a hot bath to soothe that soreness at some point. Wild also noticed earlier that she’d chewed her nails into nubs, so they’ll probably give her a coat of nail polish, too. Maybe red and gold to match the band uniforms in the show.

They’re pulled out of their thoughts when they hear Wolfie alert them with a whine. They follow his line of sight to see Ganon entering the lobby from the parking lot. Wolfie instantly puts himself between Wild and Ganon. Wild sinks a hand into Wolfie’s thick coat and leaves it there. Twilight comes out of the house just then, and also spots Ganon. He holds up a microphone in one hand and beckons Ganon into the house, holding his face carefully neutral. Wild is sure that if he wasn’t trying not to, he’d be wearing a scowl.

When they started last night, and  _ Kass _ was the one singing Harold’s part in  _ Rock Island _ , Wild hadn’t just won twenty rupees from Twilight: They’d also won the satisfaction of knowing that Ganon didn’t get the lead, which Wild knows he must have wanted. 

Wild still isn’t thrilled that the Pig is there at all, but they’ll take what they can get. They refuse to let Ganondorf take this from them; Wild won’t let themself be pushed out of what they love to do. They already missed a year and a half’s worth of shows, first due to injury, then due to trauma. But they refuse to let Ganondorf hold that power over them anymore. They’ll keep working these shows for as long as they like, because they love them, and not even Ganondorf can stop them. 

Unfortunately, though, spite isn’t as effective at preventing nightmares as it is at motivation—they had the dream again last night. 

The dream is always the same; only, it’s not so much a dream as a memory. In fact, it’s the only memory they have from the day of Wild’s accident. 

Wild lays on their back in the middle of the stage, flames roaring around them. They see Flora next to them, her soot-stained face glowing orange in the firelight. Glittering tear tracks cut through the ash on her cheeks. They see her hands on their arm, but feel nothing. Even as her fingers dig and pull and clutch at their burned body, they’re numb—it’s as if they’re floating in a lukewarm bath. Over Flora’s shoulder, far behind her, Wild sees the dark outline of a person. The tall, broad silhouette stands out starkly against the blinding light from the flames behind it. The person’s short, spiky hair sticks up from their head like horns, or a devilish crown. As they turn, Wild sees their profile clearly: A large, sloping brow, a hooked nose like a bird’s beak, and a pointed chin. A Gerudo, clearly, but not a woman. 

Ganondorf.

The only difference between Wild’s dream and the true memory is the dark, echoing laughter their mind has provided, just to make the scene that much more nightmarish. Wild wakes from the dream the same way every time. It’s the same way they first woke from the coma, too, 100 days after the fire: gasping on invisible smoke and writhing in pain, with no idea where or who they are. 

Luckily, these days their memories come back within a few minutes. Back then, they hadn’t come back at all. It was only after several months of recovery and therapy that they were able to regain even a fraction of their memories from before the fire. They’re still missing most of that portion of their life. 

Wild turns his attention back to Wolfie, who’s been pawing at his leg. They check back in with him before he decides to use a more extreme alert, like crawling on top of them — not that they don’t appreciate Wolfie’s deep pressure therapy! It’s just that if Wolfie jumped in their lap right now, he’d probably send them both tumbling out of the rickety office chair and into the floor. 

Quietly, through the tinny speakers embedded in the ceiling, he hears Ganon start his mic check. He’s singing  _ Symmetry Labrynna, _ Harold Hill’s most iconic song. Of course, even when he’s not playing the lead, he still has to show off. 

Wild rolls their eyes at the thought and stands to stretch. Maybe they’ll find a nice out-of-the-way place to lounge around until rehearsal starts...

_________

_ 6:30 — Lobby _

Green is sewing red stripes down the legs of costume band pants when Shadow finally saunters into the theatre, casually half an hour late. He loudly finishes off his iced coffee as he opens the door, and tosses the empty cup like a basketball into the recycle bin across the room.

“Legend’s looking for you,” Green says, hardly looking up from his needlework. Shadow rolls his eyes. 

“When  _ isn’t  _ Legend looking for me?” He smirks and plants his chin right on top of Green’s head. 

Green rips out his last stitch and redoes it. “He’s gonna have your hide if you don’t come up with a good excuse,” he warns. 

Shadow pretends to think. “Maybe I’ll tell him I was helping my grouchy brother cheer up after he had to sew big red stripes on half a million pairs of pants.”

Green stabs his thumb with his needle and swears loudly. “It’s not so bad. At least I don’t have to build half a million paper maché instruments.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shadow grimaces. “Maybe I’ll go have Vio cover for me. As far as Legend knows, I’ve been helping in the shop since five.”

Green laughs. “He’ll never believe that, you’d better cut it a little closer.”

“Fine,” Shadow admits, “Since 6:15.”  
  
“Better,” Green calls after him as he disappears down the hall. 

_________

_ 11:00 — Lobby _

They make it all the way to the finale that night. No bows, not tonight (they’re not choreographed yet), but they finish the last song. Now, the actors are taking notes, and the crew is cleaning up and resetting for the top of the show. The actors will wrap up and head out, and the crew will follow shortly. They got out on time tonight — Twilight bets Wild will let Wolfie out of his work vest and let him greet everyone properly once all the actors have gone. 

Whistling, Twilight collects one last microphone buried in Ghirahim’s costume and carries his big box to the box office to be locked up for the night.

Out in the lobby, Twilight finds Wild sprawled on his stomach on the ancient lobby carpeting. He’s tapping buttons on a handheld game from which tinny electronic battle music is playing. Wolfie has stretched himself across Wild’s back, and Sky is sleepily peering over Wild’s shoulder from where he’s stretched out on the bench seating nearby. Twilight can’t quite remember the name of whatever Wild is playing — a Swap? Shift? Switch? — but he’s glad the two of them have found a way to kill time until the other techies have finished. He’s sure they would be backstage helping if they didn’t know they’d be more hindrance than help; it’s a whole other world back there, and the backstage techs are very particular about the way things are done.

“Hey Wild,” Twilight calls, and Wild turns their head slightly, not taking their eyes off the screen. “Don’t forget to make sure Flora goes home tonight.” Twilight says, “I don’t think her RA will be happy with either of you if she’s gone two nights in a row. Plus, you wanted to catch a ride with her instead of me tomorrow, so you don’t have to come so early.”   
  


Wild nods, turning back to the screen. “Right-o, bossman, I’ll make sure she gets a good night’s rest on an actual mattress for once. I was gonna crash at her place tonight anyway.”

Twilight doesn’t think Flora’s RA would be very happy with  _ that _ either, but Wild has never paid much attention to “girls only” rules. ‘If I’m a girl about as often as I’m a boy about as often as I’m neither,’ Wild once reasoned, ‘then what does it matter what pronouns I’m using when I want to go in? If I’m welcome when I’m using she/her, then why, under the same circumstances, would I be barred just because I happen to be vibing with he/him or they/them at the moment? I’m the same person no matter what my pronouns are at any particular time, so my welcome status shouldn’t change. If I’m trustworthy around women, then I’m trustworthy around women. My gender shouldn’t matter.’

Twilight couldn’t argue with Wild’s reasoning, especially after Flora agreed with him wholeheartedly. 

Unfortunately, it still didn’t address the actual problem: overnight guests, regardless of gender, aren’t allowed in Flora’s dorm. 

Wild is good at sneaking around, though, and they haven’t been caught yet, so Twilight supposes what Flora’s RA doesn’t know won’t kill her. 

Bidding goodnight to Wild and Sky, Twilight twirls his keys one last time and goes home.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! This is one of the longest single pieces I've ever written already, and I have several chapters planned. This one alone took me round about a month, however, so please bear with me and be patient! I've demonstrated with my Linktober collection that I finish what I start, it just might take me a while. I hope this is enough to tide you over until more shenanigans come your way! (I'm also working on my Four Weeks of Four pieces so keep an eye out for that as well if it interests you!)


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